


Better Than Having

by purewanderlust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Episode Tag, Five Times, John's POV, M/M, Unrequited Love, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Dean asks for something for himself, and one time he gets what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Having

1.  
  
"Daddy?" John looked up at the sound of his older son's voice. Dean was sitting on the floor, little fingers playing over Sammy's face as the baby slept. He looked unusually serious for a four year-old, but then, Dean was anything but your average four year-old.  
  
"What's up, Deano?"  
  
"If I prayed real real _real_ hard," Dean hesitated, green eyes earnest, "Would Mommy come back?"  
  
A fresh wave of pain crashed down on John and he took a shuddering breath to steady himself. "No, sweetie. Nothing will bring Mommy back."  
  
Dean's face crumpled, but he didn't cry, turning to look down at Sammy. "Okay."  
  
The look of resignation in his toddler's eyes was almost too much for John to handle and he turned away before Dean could see his tears, marveling that this child was stronger than he was.

 

 

2.   
  
"Dad?" Dean crept into the kitchen where his father was working and immediately John suspected he was up to something. Newly a teenager, Dean wasn't yet grown into his own skin, hovering awkwardly in the doorway, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.  
  
"What do you need, son?"  
  
"Mrs. Halloway asked me to go on a trip to a writing workshop in Colombia," Dean said in a rush, "I checked it out and it doesn't cost anything and it's on the weekend so I wouldn't miss any school. They only picked one boy and one girl from each grade to go so it's kinda--"  
  
"No, Dean."  
  
John watched as his son's eager smile faded. "Sir?"  
  
"I have to go out of town this weekend on a hunt. I need you to stay here and watch Sammy."  
  
A flicker of disappointment may have crossed Dean's features, but by the time John finished his sentence, his oldest's face was a perfect mask of carelessness. "Yessir." Dean nodded and pivoted on his heel, vanishing out the doorway with only the slightest pause to drop the permission slip in the trash can.  
  
 _Full of potential._ His English teacher had told John when she caught him in the grocery store last week. _Dean really has a way with words. If he keeps this up, he'll be the top of your class in high school._  
  
John put his head in his hands. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of Dean, but anything that could distract him from the hunt, from Sammy, was dangerous and had to be stamped out. He didn't need a bunch of well-meaning teachers filling his son's head with ideas of college and civilian life. That was never something Dean was going to be allowed to have.

 

  
3.   
  
Rain was pouring down, drowning out all sight and sound when John pulled into the motel parking lot, and he muttered a few choice words at the thought of darting out into the deluge. Nonetheless, he made quick work of it, hustling to the motel room door and huddling under the awning like a particularly large and well-armed drowned rat.   
  
As soon as he opened the front door, he heard raised voices from the kitchen. John sighed, thinking _boys will be boys_ , all set to go and break up the argument, but Dean's next words stopped him in his tracks.  
  
"But...I didn't _make_ you, right, Sammy? You wanted me too?"   
  
Dean sounded panicked, guilty, and it took John a moment to register the words. Surely,  _surely_  this conversation wasn't what it sounded like. He had just come in halfway through and hilariously misunderstood, like in some 90s sitcom.   
  
"Dean, I can't _do_ this anymore! People at school, they have normal relationships, they go on dates in public. I can't even kiss you without the threat of jail time! I don't want to be a freak anymore."   
  
"Sammy, please..." John gripped the doorknob, feeling nauseous. He wasn't sure which was worse, that his sons were apparently engaged in an incestuous relationship or that Dean, Dean Winchester, was  _begging_.   
  
"No, Dean. I'm done with this. I'm sorry."   
  
Dean didn't say anything else and John realized with a jolt that he was about to get caught listening in on this conversation and he hastily backed out the door. He felt ill, but knowing Sam had just called it off made him feel marginally better. Dean, though, he sounded like he was still invested in this sick thing, and John was going to have to put a stop to that immediately.  
  
He made a big production of reentering the motel room, falling heavily against the door and fumbling with the knob for a good thirty seconds before swinging the door inward. Dean was curled on the couch, fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, staring blankly at the television. Sam was nowhere in sight.   
  
John threw his bag on the floor and came to stand over Dean, waiting for his oldest son to acknowledge him.  
  
"I heard you close the door on your way back out," Dean said after a moment, without looking up, "I know you heard." At the same time, John realized that his son's position wasn't so much about comfort as it was about protection and he felt bile well up in his throat, the thought that his son could be afraid of him temporarily overriding his anger.   
  
"Sammy was right, Dean, it isn't natural, and it isn't acceptable."   
  
Dean looked at him then, his eyes, so like his mother's, shining with unshed tears. "You don't think I don't know that? I just wanted--"

"You don't get to want, Dean." John said sharply. "You don't get that luxury. Now I want you to put it from your mind, you hear me?"   
  
Dean's expression shuttered. "Yessir."   
  
John was a little taken aback by how readily he agreed. But then Dean had always been good at following orders.  
  
And Sam had already done half the work for him.   
  


 

4.   
  
"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back." John snarled, and Dean's head snapped towards him, eyes wide with betrayal. He couldn't be bothered with his oldest son right now, though, not when his youngest was abandoning his family and putting himself at risk at the same time.   
  
Sam's lips pressed into a thin line. "Tough words, John," he growled back with equal ferocity, "Have a nice life, for however long it lasts." Before John could even formulate a response, Sam was out the door, the screen slamming back into place with a sound like a gunshot. Dean darted forward, intent clear, and John caught his arm.   
  
"Stay where you are, Dean."   
  
His oldest son didn't seem to hear him, wrenching free and vanishing out the door after his brother. For a long moment, John was frozen in shock. There wasn't a time in memory he could recall Dean so blatantly ignoring his orders.   
  
"Leave me  _alone_!" Sam's voice, high with tension and rage broke through the momentary calm and John moved to the window to see how it would play out. If Dean couldn't make his brother stay, nothing would, and John felt a thrill of terror at the idea of his boy alone out there, with no one to protect him.  
  
"Sammy, c'mon, calm down..."   
  
"Calm down?!" Sam growled, jerking out of Dean's grip, "I just got fuckin' disowned and you want me to  _calm down_?"   
  
"Dude, you know he didn't mean it like that, he's just angry."  
  
"I'm angry too, Dean. I'm so angry all the time and it's because of him! I can't _do_ this anymore."   
  
"Please don't go, Sam. I want you to stay."   
  
"Too bad." Sam snapped and John winced along with Dean, shocked at how cold his youngest was being, but then his Sam's expression softened. "Dean, I'm sorry, but I can't be around you anymore than I can be around Dad. Not if I want any hope of ever being normal."   
  
John watched with a detached sort of ache in his chest as Sam's words hit Dean. The older boy looked gutted, a complete wreck, and at least Sam had the decency to pull him into an apologetic hug.  
  
"It's not your fault, Dean, it's mine. But...I have to go."   
  
Dean nodded mutely and Sam turned away, walking to the end of the drive and vanishing around the corner in a matter of minutes. After an hour of Dean standing motionless in the driveway, John took pity on him, leading him back into the house and pretending not to hear when he collapsed into Sam's bed and sobbed the rest of the night away.   
  


 

+1.  
  
Dean can't think past the waxy, drained look of Sam's face, or his unnatural stillness. This was never how it was supposed to be. He had never expected to make it to his thirtieth birthday, but Sammy was never supposed to die.   
  
Dean wouldn't let him stay that way.  
  
The demon's kiss had tasted like ashes in his mouth and a weight had settled in his chest, a ticking clock counting down to his inevitable bloody end. But none of that mattered when he saw Sam, alive and whole.  
  
He pulled his brother into a bone-crushing hug thinking  _I would die a thousand times over just to keep you safe_.  
  
It's all he's ever really wanted. 


End file.
